Housewife
by spectrosilver
Summary: Ficlet. DP. 'I'll nod, not fully aware of what you're talking about, and call over a house elf, who will bring you your tea and the Daily Prophet.'


Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter. All characters and related material belong to J.K. Rowling.  This is for entertainment purposes only, no money is being made.

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**Housewife**

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spectrosilver

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**            "...And then I'll owl Blaise, and say, 'Blaise, darling.  Let's meet for tea.'  And we will and we'll talk about all the expensive things we've bought lately, and sip our tea and eat our biscuits.  And Blaise will say, 'Oh, dear.  It's getting late.'  And I'll respond that yes, it is.  And we'll sit and sit until whoever is in the biggest hurry decides to pick up the bill for the tea.  And that will be Blaise.  I'll say, Blaise, lovely to see you, we must go out again soon.  She'll agree, and then we'll leave.  I'll sit at home and wait 'til late, when you arrive, and you'll call me Pansy, for I won't be a Parkinson anymore.  You'll say, 'Pansy, those damned muggle-lovers are slowing us down.'  And I'll nod, not fully aware of what you're talking about, and call over a house elf, who will bring you your tea and the Daily Prophet.  You won't say anything else, you'll just read the paper and I'll just sit there.  And then we'll go off to bed, in the stone-grey room of the manor, and the day will begin itself again."  She laughed bitterly.  "And that's life."  The boy scrunched up his nose in the Black family fashion. **

            "That's it?  Just the same, boring life as our parents?  Couldn't you come up with anything else?"  

            "'Fraid that is it.  But hey, you shouldn't be complaining." She swung his hand, which was held tight in hers.  "You're not the housewife in the story.  At least you're the one who'll have the 'mark and you'll be the one with the power."  A cool, spring breeze ruffled through their hair.  "And at least you're not the one who has to listen to Blaise Zabini's insufferable ramble about robes and rings."  

            "But Parkinson, you love talking about robes and rings." 

            "I know.  But," her free hand brushed a piece of stray hair out of her eyes, "it's not even that simple.  I don't know.  I really, really don't know."

            "That's too bad.  It's a pity, suddenly forgetting what you're carrying on a conversation about-"

            "I just don't want to get older, and there's no stopping that.  We've been rushing through Hogwarts, and for what reason?  Just so I can become your mother?"

            "Let's hope not, shall we?  I don't think it'd be very right, snogging my mother the way I'll do you."

            "Oh, shut it!"  She said, settling down against a willow tree, pulling him with her.  "That's not what I meant at all.  I don't want to be your mother, and I don't want to be mine either. It's such a horrid thing to say, but sometimes I wish that I had a different mother altogether.  I'm an awful person for saying that, but it's true.  I just wonder what would be different if I had a different family."

            "Well, let's see.  You could have one of those mothers who loves their children a lot, and smothers them in hugs and kisses and praises and says, 'Oh, Pansy. I love you so!' every two seconds."  He mimicked a mother's voice, which caused Pansy to roll her eyes.  "And then you could be a happy little Gryffindor with your best friends Potter and Weasel  and know-it-all Granger, you'd all go off and save the world and bring love and flowers and happiness to everyone and they'd all say 'That Pansy, what a girl.'  Of course, you'd only be doing _that_ for attention.  And if you were a Gryffindor, you surely wouldn't be with the most charming boy in school," he smirked. "Me, I'd stick with the family you've got.  They're a hell of a lot better than some."  He raised his eyebrows at her, and she shrugged.

            "I suppose so."  Her eyes rested on the lake, watching the waves rise and fall. 

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